


Sex, Red Lyrium, and Rock n Roll

by snarry_splitpea



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Asphyxiation, Awkward Boners, Blackouts, Coming Untouched, Drug Addiction, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Premature Ejaculation, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Rough Sex, cum untouched
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian, Vivienne, and Cassandra were convinced they'd grown out of their punk rock wardrobes and dusk til dawn party habits.  Yet, when Lyrical Lyrium announces a reunion tour, the three of them decide to have a reunion of their own.  Sera's stint in mainstream music may have ruined Lyrical Lyrium's reputation as a punk band hellbent on anarchy.  Varric's foray into romance writing may have dulled the sharp edge of his former talent of gory storytelling and he hates to admit that he hasn't touched his bass guitar in years.  Iron Bull needs to keep a low profile due to his not-so-savory new job.  Oh, and Fenris.  Well, Fenris is kind of the reason the band broke up in the first place.  That son of a bitch. (Please check tags for warnings!!!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/gifts).



> There's a "book cover"for this if you're curious:  
> http://snarry-splitpea.tumblr.com/post/135700843573/are-you-ever-feeling-the-right-level-of-silly-for

Fenris always hated when Hawke left the fucking tv on during his visits.  Fenris could barely hear anything over the sloppy wet sounds of his ex-boyfriend's girthy cock slamming repeatedly into his ass.  But there was still the odd glance that meant he caught an eyeful of President Corypheus's ugly, pox-riddled face while nearing orgasm.  Perhaps Hawke meant keeping the news on in the background as some sort of psychological cockring.  Always too eager.  Always close to bursting.  Anything that kept Fenris from erupting too soon was an asset.  After all, Hawke had a warrior's stamina.  

Fenris never could tell Hawke that only he had such an effect on him.  No matter whom else he'd been with, not another soul had ever made him feel so drunk on lust.  So high.  He took another glance at the president's disgusting mug to keep his body from careening over the edge of bliss.  After all, the skinny little fuck loved taking it up the ass so much that the mere thought of it had him tenting his leather pants no matter where he was or what he was doing.

"Did Iron Bull fuck you like this?" Hawke asked as he pulled on the thick metal chain around Fenris's neck with his right hand.  True to his aesthetic, no matter how he aged, Fenris always kept what was essentially a dog collar around his neck.  A tongue-in-cheek homage to the horrors of his youth.

Still savagely thrusting into the bent over slut, Hawke grinned as his ex began to tremble and moan.  The pressure on the blood vessels around the elf's throat was a delicious pain Hawke knew he loved.  Craved. Something Fenris had once begged for when he'd been too timid to oblige him. Too smitten to harm him even during play. Fenris gasped out inaudible words at the gorgeous pleasure bursting from his prostate.  His cock rigid with pleasure.  Weighty enough to swing with every thrust.  Hawke used his left hand to grip a bony hip, pulling Fenris's malleable body back just as roughly as he fucked forward.

Hawke's cock twitched as he realized Fenris was rasping out what a sorry fuck he was.  Whispering in his gravely voice about how much bigger stronger his former qunari lover had been.  How he'd been picked up and banged like a lifeless doll then filled with so much cum his stomach had bloated from the pressure.  Hawke came as Fenris called him a sorry little human. A shemlen with a disgusting fixation on ramming his cock into every passing elf. He pulled out of Fenris's ravaged ass and seemed not to care whether or not Fenris had cum at all.  He had work to do.

Hawke watched with mild interest as Fenris scrambled over the table he'd just been fucked on and grabbed a syringe.  A pang of guilt stabbed Hawke as he watched the still achingly hard elf shoot himself full of a disastrous mixture of lyrium and cocaine.  Almost immediately, Fenris writhed atop the table and his cock began to leak a steady and thick stream of cum.  Long, milkly rivulets of his semen gushed down the side of his erection, sliding around the curve of his thigh to pool on the table below.  The guilt couldn't stop Hawke from watching the tawdry display and he knew, with no small amount of disgust, that if he could get hard again so soon, he'd be fucking the elf into oblivion.  Use the neverending stream of ejaculate as lubricant.  Strain with lust as Fenris began to cry from the overwhelming barrage of pleasure.  Fenris always moaned more when freshly jacked up and Hawke loved to hear him whimper and shudder and groan with abandon.

Fenris gyrated lightly.  His hips ever so slightly lifting off the table, his cock bone-rigid and stabbing the air as it continued to spurt and dribble.

"I've got to get back to work..." Hawke said as he watched Fenris's lyrium bands thrum and glow to the rhythm of his subtle thrusts.

"Ah... ah..." Fenris groaned, his growl wolf-like and pained with drug-induced lust, "Of course... ah... you do."

Hawke watched a cock that was already red and straining grow slightly more, tight foreskin gripping the middle of the bulbous head.  Fenris hadn't reached to touch himself at all.  He just kept up the small, jerky thrusts.  His ass lightly touching the cum-covered table was starting to make a wet, sucking noise of it's own.  It was music to Hawke's ears.

"I'm going to leave you a little something on your tv stand," Hawke started.  "Not for the sex... just for... in general."

Fenris moaned again, this time with a hint of laughter.

"You don't... ah... have to lie...oh... ah... ahah.... to me, Hawke."

"No, honestly.  I would never..." 

"OOHHHH HAWKE!" Fenris started talking again but couldn't control the pleasurable shout that came with it.  His oozing cock twitched hard enough that it nearly hurt.  He was panting.  Tears leaking from his eyes as fast at the cum ran down his cock.  His cock and thighs were nearly white.  The creamy fluid was dripping off the table in a disgusting little pitter patter.  "I .... ah... I know... OH... I KNOW... I KNOW I'M JUST YOUR LITTLE WHORE.  YOUR FUCKING PROSTITUTE!" 

And with that, Fenris was cumming hard.  His twitching cock shooting his load high over his head in a powerful arch.  He screamed as he came, fists beating at the table as he tried to keep himself from jerking the load out.  He loved the sensation of every nerve in his body singing from the lyrium injection.  He loved the warm feeling of cum landing in his hair, on his face, across his chest, and down his belly.  Yet, even the clenched fists couldn't stop him.  He was far too horny and everything felt far too good.  With both hands clutched together, he pounded at his rigid cock.  The noise was sloppy as he fucked his dick against his gripping palms.  The sound of his wet cock sliding between his hands was nothign compared to the sound of his feet sliding through the cum on the table and his ass slapping the wet mess his cock had made.  He continued to shout words he didn't even understand as he fucked his balls completely dry.

Hawke knew the elf would pass out in his own drying jizz and then wake up to guiltily clean it.  He'd use the $10,000 he'd been left in less than a three months and, despite how much he definitely hated Hawke, he'd call the man back.  Beg him.  Send him teasing photos and leave tawdry voicemails.  Threaten to tell sweet, darling Merrill what he did during office hours.  

Hawke knew he was using Fenris.  That he was, himself, being used.  He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that their toxic relationship was mutually destructive.

 

* * *

 

"It hasn't been easy." Sera cooed into her microphone.  Her voice implying an exaggerated pout with a quivering bottom lip.  Her entire radio interview had been about the decline in her album sales and the long drought since her last Top 40s hit.  She'd only managed to get a single into the 52nd slot within the last year.  Even that had come after a long stint in near obscurity.  Making up for her lack of catchy songs with increased appearances on variety shows and a completely misguided childrens' book deal that flopped heavily.

"It's been years since we've heard your opinion on President Corypheus," Cassandra heard the radio announcer whisper in soft, soothing tones.  She knew what Sera's answer would be.  It had been the same for almost four whole years.

"My opinions on a presidential candidate will always differ from my opinions on a president.  The people have spoken.  Corphyshi...us, won.  It really is that simple."

"In the past, you've been known to accuse everyone from presidents to mayors of stealing and buying votes.  Yet, you were mum on Corypheus's controversial win."

Cassandra took a deep breath to recite Sera's usual reaction, word for word.

"Sometimes," they started in unison, "You gotta just know when a shitty world is gonna stay shitty.  You gotta know when to focus on your own damn problems."

Cassandra's heart always broke just a little when she heard Sera Jenny, the popstar, formerly Sera Red the screaming vocalist of an underground punk band, admit defeat.  Almost every decision Cassandra had made in her teen years.  Everything that helped shape her adulthood had been linked to songs by Lyrical Lyrium, Sera's old band.  She'd wanted to stop Corypheus.  She'd wanted to start a new world order.  She'd wanted to save the poor and underprivileged.  She'd wanted to keep mages from getting arrested and killed in the streets simply for being mages.  She'd ended up being a fucking cop of all things.  She considered herself a good cop and was elated when all her hard work and study paid off in a shiny, new detective job.  She'd gone from the offending blue uniform of a system she hated to wearing dress slacks and chic pullover tops with long coats and smart heels.  She'd gone from arresting people she didn't even want to bother to hunting down who she considered to be the "real"criminals.

Yet, somehow, it felt as if she'd fully and truly given up.  Just like Sera.  Hell, probably worse than Sera.  At least Sera's job was just dancing and cooing into a microphone.  For Cassandra it was all megaphones and negotiating with people that were probably just desperate in a world set up to take everything from them.

The radio interview continued.

"The President invited you to perform in November for what he considers his inevitable victory party for a second term.  Have you responded yet?"

"Yes," Sera responded plainly.

"Did you say yes?"

"No," Sera seemed to be stalling.  At least to Cassandra, she did.

"Ah..." the interviewer seemed to be thrown off by Sera's curt responses and the loss of the feminine lilt in her voice.  Sera Jenny talked like a porn star in orgasm.  Sera was currently giving clipped responses in the tone of Sera Red.

"What I mean is... yeah like... fuck."

"Language."

"Whatever," Sera responded.  "What I mean is I'm gonna be on tour.  With my band.  The old one.  I'll be too busy to deal with Corphyspi...us."

Cassandra nearly hit her breaks in the middle of the freeway.  She wasn't sure if she'd even heard correctly.  Even the radio announcer stuttered out their disbelief.

"Yeah, that's right.  Iron Bull, Varric, Me.  We're gonna do it.  For our old fans.  The ones that put us where we are, today.  Fuck all these other fake fucks that..."

The broadcast was then cut short.  Covered by an advertisement for a local car insurance company.

Cassandra's brow furrowed.  She was over the moon. Elated, even!  But... was Sera just talking out of her ass?  Also, why hadn't she mentioned Fenris?  There were all kinds of rumors about how he'd ruined the band, but Cassandra was more in the camp of Sera's solo career being at fault.  She continued driving toward the crime scene she'd been called to. She could look up tour dates, later.

 

* * *

 

 It was true that Sera had gotten Varric and Iron Bull to agree to have another tour as Lyrical Lyrium.  However, despite their individual talents, they were at a loss for what to do without Fenris.  Backup vocals with a voice only he had coupled with lead guitar skills that not another soul they'd heard of even possessed.  It pained them to even try to plan a tour without him.

"Should we... uh... write new stuff without him in mind?  I know it sounds a little crazy, but it's probably easier than finding someone to fill his shoes," Varric had said over the phone in his three-way call with the other members.  

He was at home with his adopted son, Cole.  There were rumors that he'd adopted Cole because he'd actually knocked up some groupie and then the groupie died.  But those rumors were false and also started by Varric himself.  He was a huge fan of seeming like a badass, despite the fact that he much preferred to spend his time writing and practicing archery alone. 

Cole was mostly just a homeless roadie that had just never left.  Once Varric found out he wasn't even old enough to be legally touring with a band, he'd just adopted the kid to keep from putting him into child services.  Considering the political climate at the time, with Corypheus cutting funding to literally any and every helpful program Ferelden had ever attempted to have, it just didn't seem right to knowingly subject a kid to that level of bullshit.

Cole trudged around in the background trying to find something to cook for himself and his father.  Varric could tell Cole had a little trouble processing sensory details around himself, but he was a genius at everything involved in his job and one of the most charming people Varric had ever met.  He was patient with the kid and never rushed him.  Not even when he was hungry.

"I kind of agree with Varric," Iron Bull chimed in.  "After all, our lyrics were kind of specific.  I know they're classics to some fans, but to new ones they might be a little dated."  
  
"Oh, you fucking a-holes.  Are you forgetting that Fenris composed our most popular songs?  How are we gonna come up with shit that people even wanna fucking hear?"  That was, of course, Sera.  Varric sighed in response.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Sera Jenny has left the building," Iron Bull teased.

"Don't you fucking call me that!"

"I'm sure you were so traumatized by those millions of dollars.  Boo hoo.  I'm the artist formerly known as Sera Red. Please, don't remind me what a sell-out I am," Varric joined in on the teasing.  He had a pang of regret and nostalgia as he realized Fenris would grudgingly laugh at both their jokes.  He'd tried to help Fenris, long ago.  He often wondered if adopting Cole was his way of healing the hurt his friendship with Fenris had left him with.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Cassandra was sure she looked ridiculous in skintight black denim pants, chain-adorned, steel-toed boots, a white t-shirt, and her distressed, black leather jacket.  It was what she'd worn to almost every Lyrical Lyrium show.  Her hair, short on the top and buzzed to almost nothing on the sides, made her look like too much of a cop or soldier.  She'd considered wigs at first.  She'd even ordered a black bob like the one she'd had in college.  For a modern touch, she'd chosen the one with hot pink highlights in the fringe. Yet, somehow, the look still felt dated.  She was sure she looked younger with her hair buzzed off, if she looked young at all.

"36 years young," she announced confidently into her bathroom mirror as she eyed her outfit.  The statement sounded ridiculous and she knew she looked ridiculous.

She'd tried it on to bolster her courage enough to call the friends she used travel with.  Instead, the experiment made her want to completely forget about the upcoming tour.  There was no point in her humiliating herself in front of strangers she'd never have to see again.  There was definitely no point in humiliating herself among people she actually knew.

Deciding to just throw on her pajamas and go to bed, Cassandra was more than a little annoyed when her phone started ringing. After immediately reaching for her work-issued smartphone, she realized the dainty, electronic bells were coming out of her landline.  The phone that only rang when pizza deliveries were being confirmed.  With mild surprise, she clanked her way over to it.

"Detective Pentaghast speaking," she cringed, realizing she'd answered her home phone as if she never fucking clocked-out.

"Detective, darling?  Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.  The last time we spoke you were heading off to some police academy," Vivienne's voice sent a chill through Cassandra.  As far as she was concerned, they hadn't been on good terms the last time they spoke.  Yet, she hadn't felt quite this happy in ages.  Just the sound of her old friend's voice was enough to both chill her to her core and thoroughly warm her heart.

"I've missed you, Vivienne." 

Said too breathily.  With too much relief and the sharp peak of Cassandra's iceberg of desperation.  It was her own fault.  All her fault.  For being too smitten and too silent all at once.  For dumping an avalance of affection on one of her best friends at the most awkward of moments.  For leaving.  For never returning.  She couldn't blame Vivienne.  Yet, somehow, Vivienne healed her and hurt her just by existing.

"Oh, Detective!  Are you going to ask me to marry you, again?"  Vivienne chuckled.  It was literally the most unfunny jest she could have come up with.  Cassandra, though hurt, was barely surprised.  Vivienne had always been sadistic.  She didn't know what to say and Vivienne laughed more as the silence stretched on.

"Come now, Cassandra.  Has it not been long enough?"

"I suppose it would be long enough if you'd kept in touch, Vivienne." 

"Am I to be blamed?  You're the one that stopped calling."

"I was the only one that ever called."

"Well I had no idea that was a problem for you.  You had such an inconsistent schedule that I just assum..."

"Stop."

"Well," Vivienne gasped with indignation.  She hated being instructed and interrupted.  The word "stop" was worse than any swear, to her.

"I uh... I was going to call you, tonight," Cassandra started.  "About the tour.  I'm guessing you've heard."

"Bastien can have me in Ferelden by the first show.  If you don't mind company, I can come early.  See the sights.  Catch up.  I was calling to ask."

"I think I'd mind company less if it could avoid mention of a certain cradle-robbing duke," Cassandra was sneering at her handset.  Chained boots rattling as she tapped a toe in frustration.  She wanted to punch something.

"I can afford a hotel, you know," Vivienne's voice dropped in pitch.  Nose-diving toward and angry growl.

"You mean that your dear ~Bastien~ can afford a hotel.  I'm sure you've made no effort to buy your own pot to piss in."

At first, Vivienne only sighed.  She was accustomed to Cassandra's self-destructive sense of honor.  People were either right or wrong.  When they were wrong, there was no need for considering one's personal goals or safety.  Just attack.  Everything was as simple as crime and punishment.  For dating an orphan fresh out of high school, Bastien was nothing more than a pedophille to Cassandra.  For taking him up on his many offers, Vivienne nothing more than a gold-digger.  She signed once more before responding.

"Are we to have a shouting match on the drive home from the airport, Cassandra?  I'll make sure to pencil one in between answering emails from my constituents and planning my next campaign."

"Consti... YOU DID NOT!!!" Cassandra's heart beat so fast she was sure it aimed to climb into her throat.  Vivienne was a former law student that had vowed before gods and witnesses to dismantle the corrupt governments of the world.  She'd stargazed on the roof of Dorian's rented home, hand in hand with Cassandra.  Spouted plans to fight for civil rights across every border.  Shouted out Lyrical Lyrium songs about freedom in every land right along with her best friends.

Cassandra could not even begin to believe that Vivienne de Fer actually held some kind of office in the world's most notoriously corrupt government!  A government made of puppet politicians who's strings were pulled by its recently overthrown noble class.  Cassandra had no doubt which politician was pulling Vivienne's particular strings. 

"Is a fucking cop about to judge me for serving my public?"

"And in ORLAIS of all places!!!"

"A Ferelden cop?  You know.  The ones that beat mages and arrest elves for walking too slow and too fast and not walking at all?" came Vivienne's cool reply.

"I'd ask who's dick you had to suck to swing that, but I think I already know."

"So, I guess I'll just meet you at the show, then."

"See you there, you conniving slut."

"Toodle-loo, you clingy bitch."

Cassandra slammed her phone down, glad Vivienne did not have her work number.  There was no way she wouldn't have thrown the fragile, glass device into the opposite wall.

* * *

 

Dorian had listened to Vivienne rant about her phonecall with Cassandra for over two hours.  He was sure the entire exchange had only lasted three minutes but, dear Maker, how his best friend could embellish.  He'd silently decided to ask Cassandra for her side of the story when they went to the show.  If she'd managed to yell at Vivienne instead of asking for forgiveness, Dorian knew there was no point giving her a ring.

Despite their differences, he knew neither woman would miss a Lyrical Lyrium reunion concert just to avoid seeing one another.  In fact, he knew they both secretly looked forward to it.  He knew they both wanted some kind of reconciliation.  They were just too prideful to do it on each other's terms.  

They had always been... feisty.  At least with one another.  Dorian still remembered Vivienne's graduation.  She was the smartest of the bunch and had skipped vacations to cram in extra classes.  Before they knew it, their young friend was marching across a stage with her department's highest honors.  It was that night that she'd told them both she was moving back in with the boyfriend that had sent her to study abroad.  It was then that she confessed he was a married noble from her home country of Orlais.  The literal opposite of everything she'd seemed to stand for.

Dorian frowned at the memory.

It was then that Cassandra desperately proposed.  Promising to love and cherish a woman she'd never so much as kissed.  Vivienne, cruel and probably not fully aware that her friend was serious, had laughed.  She'd laughed heartily and with no restraint.  Cassandra had marched out of Dorian's cottage home, letting a creaky screen door slam behind herself. She'd marched out and never returned.  Not even called.

Dorian and Vivienne, still roommates until her flight back to Orlais, first believed that Cassandra was giving them a week of cold-shouldered avoidance before calling from police academy.  Then, they thought police academy was possibly similar to boot camp. Few to no phone calls.  Hard labor. Heavy, exhausted sleeps.  As weeks turned to months, they realized Cassandra was gone.  She'd dropped them both.

They'd found Cassandra via social media when Sera Red turned into Sera Jenny.  Sadly, the virtually crossed paths beared no fruit.  Accepted friend requests and sporadic thumbs up on shared articles.  No reunions.  No closure on Cassandra's feelings for Vivienne.

They were no longer friends.

It was a hard pill for Dorian to swallow.  He felt, at times, responsible for the misunderstanding.  Cassandra had moaned to him about Vivienne's charms, her beauty, and how much she hated Sebastien de Ghislain about a thousand times.  She'd also dated some fluffy jock named Cullen for most of her college years.  So, it never quite occured to him that she liked women at all.  Yet, at other times, he felt like a casualty in a war he wasn't supposed to fight.  How was he supposed to handle an emotionally repressed woman that silently staked a claim on a friend that had been so thoroughly involved with someone that he paid for her to complete a degree in a foreign country?  Considering Vivienne's low beginnings and high goals, how could Cassandra even hope to compete?  As Cassandra always put it:  Her parents were rich.  She was poor.  They'd sent her to a Ferelden boarding school at the ripe old age of thirteen and she'd never returned for longer than school holidays allowed.

Besides.

He'd called Cassandra the minute he got his hands on her new number.  She'd answered once.  Been short with him.  Then, she never answered again.  She was petty and he hated her for that. But only for that.  Otherwise, he missed her and missed the friends they'd all been to each other.

* * *

 

 Iron Bull glared over at Zevran as the bawdy elf kissed his way down Krem's neck.  Not to be tamed by his boss's judgement, Krem made a show of spinning his elven partner around and dry humping him as they both moaned out feigned pleasure.

"You two are going to get us all caught, someday," Iron Bull complained.  Dalish nodded her agreement from where she stood, sharpening the blade at the end of a wand she usually kept hidden in her right boot.

"Oh, come on boss.  You know we're focused when there's actually a job to be done," Krem pleaded, pulling away from Zevran to straighten up the designer suit he'd worn for the morning's recon mission.

"I'm the best assassin you've ever had and I know you love me," was all Zevran said in response.  Iron Bull looked away when the elf winked. He was usually a lot more flirtatious with the Qunari captain, but managed to hold back when the whole group was assembled.

He'd been trying to get Iron Bull into bed since the moment they'd met.  In fact, the only reason Iron Bull resisted was because he never fucked his teammates.  Well, he'd eaten Krem's ass a few times too many when he'd first hired the handsome, young soldier.  In more recent times, they'd both learned to keep their hands off each other for the good of the organization.  It wasn't easy being someone's boss when all you could think of was how hard they made you cum right before a work meeting.  Especially when the meeting happened around the same table you'd fucked a guy on.

"Wasn't it Zevran that fucked our last target?" came Dalish's voice from behind Iron Bull.  "I remember having to cremate the old fucker and then compress his ashes into a fucking gemstone to make sure there was no DNA to be found.  He's still a fucking missing person instead of fucking legally -dead- because of YOU."

"I think all of our targets should become gemstones.  Bodies at the bottom of a lake are sure to be noticed, yes," Zevran responded.

"Well, if you were a fucking mage, I would give a shit what you think," Dalish's voice crackled dangerously.  Iron Bull could hear magic flickering on her tongue.

"All you do is dispose of bodies!  Why not give it a little flair now and again, hmm?"

"I WAS SICK FOR THREE DAYS AFTER USING ALL THAT MAGIC, ZEVRAN!"

"And you're welcome for a light and relaxing vacation," the Antivan elf gave a mocking bow as Iron Bull and Krem started walk away, giving Zevran a wide berth.

Sure enough, a lightning bolt jolted the elf's body into a dozen contortions before dropping him lifelessly on the ground.

"Don't waste too much lyrium doing that, Dalish," Iron Bull scolded as he reached into a pouch on his hip and tossed her a tiny vial of the glowing chemical.  She procured a syringe, rubber band, and sanitizing cloths from a zippered pouch on her left boot.  Sitting down her wand and sanding stone, Dalish began the laborious process of replenishing her mana.

Zevran wheezed out an apology as Krem marched over to check his pulse.  Giving Iron Bull a nod to confirm the rogue would be fine, Krem left the room.

Then, he popped his head back in to share information he'd forgotten to give Iron Bull.

"I think they've confirmed that Alistair is Corypheus's running mate now that the other guy is... missing.  You've got time for your little band thing before the job, then."

Iron Bull nodded solemnly.  He heard Zevran whisper from the floor that he could take care of everything with one hand tied behind his back, but this mission needed a significantly different touch.  Also, he didn't like Krem's tone about his band.

"It's not a -little- band thing.  We were the biggest rock act in all of Ferelden and I'm still collecting some royalties, today."

"Oh, yeah. I did hear that you guys sold out even before Jenny went solo."

"Red, Krem," Iron Bull grumbled.

"Ah... Red," Krem responded.  His tone measured and careful.  Iron Bull could see his expression turn thoughtful for a second as his fingers drummed on the door-frame.  Without another word, his second in command left the room, again.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few embellishments have been made to the sex scene in part one!

The band was finally meeting in person, again.  It had been years since their last time together. Not a party.  Not a meeting.  Just phone calls and birthday cards for over one thousand days.  Meeting again should have been a celebration, but they had so much work to do.

Iron Bull marched into the glass-walled conference room wearing head to toe Jean Paul Gaultier, his tartan kilt bringing the only dash of color to his all black and mostly leather ensemble.  Varric looked up at him with an impressed nod before reaching out to stroke the fur front of Iron Bull's leather-sleeved jacket.

"You don't look a day older than the last time we saw each other," Varric said to the huge drummer.  Iron Bull thanked him and returned the compliment, not commenting on the patch of silver hair flashing across the front of the dwarf's high and tight pompadour.  He was grateful, after all, that Varric had chosen to ignore the whiteness peppered throughout his mustache and beard.

Sera glumly thanked them both for coming as they all took their seats.  Iron Bull looked show ready, at least.  Varric's simple outfit, on the other hand, seemed tweedy and academic. She wondered if he spent his free time teaching music lessons. Some needling memory of holiday cards with photos of he and Cole in skiing gear made her feel guilty for pulling him away from his everyday life.

There was also the absence of Fenris bringing Sera down.  They would need to get the label to agree to them singing songs they no longer fully owned.  They would need to convince executives that fully knew that Lyrical Lyrium coming back reflected greatly on the quality of their overall brand.  Despite having new acts to rake in funds, the company couldn't risk any flops.  Sera was almost sure they would demand that Fenris return before scheduling any shows.

She wondered where Fenris was.  What he was doing.  Whether or not he had ever beat his addiction.

The musicians seemed distracted as the meeting started. All of them nervous in stark contrast to the icy and calculating looks of the suited office workers in front of them.

Iron Bull, worried about the unpredictable nature of Zevran, had left Krem with strict instructions to keep an eye on the Antivan elf.  Varric left Cole with enough money to take care of the household and himself.  The boy was full of good intentions but tended to freeze or make the worst decision when faced with a conundrum.

 Sera's butler/personal assistant/bodyguard had been begged, in front of every person milling about the record label's lobby, to return to her car.  Much to his chagrin.  The young elf had spent most of her early adulthood dodging the butler's care.  Yet, as she neared her thirties, Sera realized he was just an old man trying to do his job.  A job he'd promised to do with increased vigor when his original boss, Sera's adoptive mother, laid on her deathbed.  Sera's mother, Lady Emmald, had not always been the perfect parent, but she did what she could for those she cared about, butler included.  

Upon dying, Emmald left Sera most of her fortune.  A scandal most humans wouldn't endure for an elf, not even in death.  The rest of her assets scattered to a few charities, but she also left their butler a significant sum.  A retiring sum, honestly.  Yet, the man had so strong a sense of honor that he actually remained where he'd been asked to stay.  Sera wasn't sure she'd have stuck around had she been in his position.

Then again, working for a celebrity was probably more exciting than anything else he could have gotten up to.  Paid world travel.  Fantastic sights.  Rubbing elbows with other famous people, or at least other famous peoples' staff members.

He also knew and appreciated that despite her bristly nature, Sera wasn't difficult to care for.  He was one of the few people in the world that knew Sera had been an orphan in the worst of conditions when Lady Emmald, barren and lonely, had found her.  Not only had Sera learned quickly to care for herself, she'd grown capable of taking care of the kids around her.

She often sat through interviews where reporters implied she was getting older and would soon want a husband and children of her own.  During those times, Sera bit her tongue against reminding them that she was a lesbian.  She bit her tongue a second time to keep from blurting out the little known fact that she'd been like a mother to thirty kids.  Infants, toddlers, and other kids her own age that were soft and weak because they'd had parents to begin with.  Parents they remembered and loved.  Their caretakers in the orphanage were always hateful humans and elderly elves that barely got enough food and drink of their own.  People without the heart or energy to see after a crying mob of abandoned kids.  The alienages were nothing short of hell and Sera was glad to put that life behind herself.

Yet, that life had prepared her the way she currently lived.  Had made her compassionate despite her wealth.  She knew what a lazy upperclass looked like.  How they abused and consumed everyone and everything around them.  She knew the effects of their greed right down to the lowliest cockroaches of their domains.  She would never be like them.  She would undo their destruction.  She would drain them of their power.

She didn't know how.  Not anymore.

Once upon a time, it had been about punk music,  pranks, and strategic inconveniences.  Back then, she'd been too foolhardy.  Too generous, even.  Sera scorned the wealth her mother left for her.  The pile of riches that made her kin to the people she despised.  She'd well and truly pissed it all off.  

Well, she'd cleaned up a few orphanages.  Furnished a few schools.  Paid off a shit ton of student loans in a highly unorganized and controversial internet sweepstakes.

Then, as she began to run out of it, she realized the value money had.  She'd found herself in debt and starving her way through shows to keep creditors at bay.  That's when the record label approached Lyrical Lyrium about signing.  When the band was vulnerable.  Desperate.  That's when they'd all been offered comfortable lives and sold-out shows in legendary halls.  

After accepting, they were all on top of the world for a short time.  Their sound morphed into pop punk.  Their most loyal friends swallowed the heavy pill of their perceived betrayal.  They thrived.

Then, Sera went solo.  It was more like she'd been forced to go solo, but nobody knew how the music industry worked and she'd found no sympathy.  Not even from her bandmates.  

Being a popstar wasn't very different from being a child actor.  

Sera knew this because her mother once had an obsession with making the pint-sized blonde famous.

When Sera reached age eleven, the years of varied performance lessons finally paid off and she became the youngest cast member of a popular sitcom.  Her mother, well-meaning but perhaps a little greedy, had kept her on a short leash during those years.  Her job as a daughter was to listen to her tutors and make Ferelden laugh and smile.  It was no surprise that her first decision as an angry and twice-orphaned teen was to start a punk band.  Lady Emmald would have hated it, but despite Sera's mourning, she didn't care.

What would have been a short-lived whim in a two-car garage on the edge of suburbia for most kids, was a catapult into super stardom for Sera.  After all, most teens didn't have the funds to audition around the country for the best musicians money could hire.  Most kids didn't have a built-in, global audience.

Most kids just weren't Sera.

Sera found a Qunari drummer that fit more of a metal aesthetic but had a great passion for the punk acts that had preceded them.  He was significantly older than her and perhaps too subdued, but for Sera it was only important that he play loud and well.  Another beefy addition to her act was a Dwarven author that produced thick books of poetry.  All of it apocalyptic and anti-government in nature.  Among the people that would later become Lyrical Lyrium's fanbase, he had been more of a draw than Sera.  The dwarf was a well-respected writer in many subcultures.  He was a man that put a strong voice to ideas mostly ignored by the mainstream.  To them, Sera was just some skinny rich kid that bought a band with her dead mother's estate.  He wrote their lyrics and played bass guitar.

Finally, there was the tattoooed elf.  Brooding, silver-haired, and gravelly voiced.  He wasn't much older than Sera and his place in the band had been earned with a godlike mastery of electric guitar.  She still remembered his audition at random moments throughout her days.  How she'd been affected physically by the mournful and carefully strummed sounds he made.  He'd made the audition all the better by announcing that he'd composed his audition song, himself.  She'd wanted to sing to those cords.  To more of his cords.  To get to know him.  To be his friend.  Varric had given the elf boy a rousing pat on the back and full smile of encouragement. Iron Bull had smiled, as well, saying that Fenris wasn't at all hard on the eyes and would bring all of Ferelden running to their shows for both a listen and a glimpse.

They'd been happy, back then.  Fenris's gentle mirth stumbling from his lips in a chuckle.  His cheeks glowing brighter in some magical semblance of a blush.

Sera had thought him ghostly.

Or perhaps angelic.

At least at the time.

 

* * *

 

The show hadn't started and there was a steady trickle of crowd-ignoring roadies purposefully marching on and off of the stage. Cassandra scoffed the moment she caught sight of Dorian and Vivienne.  She knew of Dorian's complete inclination towards male partners but couldn't shake the pang of jealousy the kicked her in the gut when the two leaned together for a few conspiratorial whispers under the low, crackling instrumentals sifting from the nightclub's speakers.  She wasn't sure if they'd spotted her, yet.  In any case, she doubted either of them would greet her. Not even a wave from across the room.  Sipping a disgusting energy drink because she'd not gotten a wink of sleep on her flight or in the hotel, Cassandra grimaced at the thought that maybe they were ignoring her.  The thought that perhaps she deserved to be ignored.

Vivienne looked completely different from, but not at all older than the last time they'd met.  Deep brown skin glowed under the flickering spotlights above and, at least from a distance, her face seemed free of any lines.  Her hair, which she'd often kept in a high, towering bun of tiny, glossy curls, irritating back-of-the-room classmates and back-of-the-bar concert-goers alike, was completely gone.  Cassandra would have mourned the loss of Vivienne's glorious mane, but somehow the polished dome suited her former crush just as well.  It meant not a single eye could be distracted from the beauty of her face, neckline, and firm breasts.  She was a work of art with a smooth jaw and pointed chin.  High cheekbones.  Full and finely sculpted lips.  Vivienne was a goddess.

Cassandra's eyes roamed the sparsely populated room.  It was still early.  She could see that almost all eyes were on her two former friends.  Perhaps they hadn't felt her staring because everyone stared.  Everyone always stared.  Cassandra even wanted to kick herself for worrying about how to make her old clothes fit for the show.  Dorian and Vivienne had, obviously, discarded their heavily studded wardrobes and kept up with the times.

Dorian's leather pants, Tevinter tattoos, and combat boots were all familiar to her.  Yet, his once bare face was suddenly home to a handlebar mustache and neatly trimmed goatee.  His hair was shaved down on the sides, like hers, but carefully arranged, up top.  A messy bouffant of sorts.  More stylish.  Over his pants, Dorian wore an oversized, grey tanktop.  It covered almost nothing.  Just a hole-ridden swath of draping fabric with a neckline and arm holes that revealed him almost down to his waist.  Both forearms were home to a million spiked and buckled straps.  His neck was completely covered by a leather collar that sat on his collarbones and seemed to hold him spine-straight.

VIvienne wore a maroon, floor-length dress with a high, buttoned collar and long sleeves.  Every inch of it composed of wide-knit lace.   Her legs were encased in thigh-high boots of a soft, black suede.  With a squint, Cassandra registered that her friend's breasts were kept decent by large, heart-shaped pasties covered in black rhinestones.  Her lower-half was concealed by a high-waisted mini-skirt.  Skin-tight and stretchy.  Vivienne's breasts, perky despite their size, bounced with her every movement.  Her every word.  Her every chuckle.  The sweeping spotlights continuously captured the shimmer of the arranged rhinestones.  They were hypnotizing in their beauty. Cassandra found herself growing hotter at the thought of touching them.  Soft hisses as the adhesive pasties are peeled away.  Pleasured moans as her pale fingers kneeded the prickling pain away from Vivienne's nipples.  She'd seen Vivienne nude, before.  Knew exactly what to imagine.  Had heard her cry out in pleasure from locked bedrooms during vacations.  Had peeked, guiltily, from hallways as her curvy, brown body rode strapping young men to their shouted climaxes.

It had to be the energy drink that was making her heart race so.  Only in romance novels did women nearly pass out from the thought of flickering tongues and dancing fingers.  Only in romance novels did their petals unfold and their flowers weap sweet nectar. Without thinking, her right palm slid up her exposed collar towards her neck.  Absentmindedly trying to still her thrumming heart as it ached for the woman she watched from the shadows.

* * *

 

 Peeking into the nightclub from backstage, Iron Bull frowned.  Not only was the crowd thin enough for him to still spot the floor, several of them held Sera Jenny signs and wore Sera Jenny t-shirts.  In fact, though he couldn't see the entire dancefloor, all but three of the people within reach of the spotlights seemed to contrast heavily with the punk and gothic decor of the venue.  Bright t-shirts and candy-colored dresses adorned the fans nearest the stage.  Yet, on the edge, there was a tall woman with a light scar on her jaw.  She sipped a Red Bull with an annoyed glower.  Iron Bull wondered if the drink turned her features sour or if she was annoyed by the bouncing kid next to her.  One of the sign-holders.

On the other side of the stage, still right up front, were literally the most beautiful people Iron Bull had ever seen. Astonishing because, in his fame, he'd seen a lot of beautiful people.  He wracked his memory for their identities. Surely people like them were famous, as well?  There was something Orlesian about the Black woman's posture and the man next to her was obviously of Tevinter.  A spy would know.  He decided that perhaps they were famous in the countries they hailed from.  Fereldens were a little xenophobic, at best.  A Qunari expat would know.

"So, uh... I don't think you're gonna be happy, Sera."

Sera glared over at the Qunari.  He wore another Jean Paul Gaultier outfit complete with a kilt.  This time in yellow plaidweave.  She couldn't help but be distracted by the bright yellow pattern and averted her eyes.  Sera hadn't been able to explain current fashion to her band and knew she looked a little underdressed in her simple black denim skinny jeans and red bra ensemble.  Even Varric had pulled on his old leather jacket, full of grommets, spikes, and patches.  The fact that he wore it over a plain tee and relaxed jeans with sneakers didn't update the look at all. His hair, a ponytail with an obvious undercut, was the only modern thing about his look.  And even that had been a compromised between shaving a mohawk back into his hair and doing nothing at all.  Sera pushed past Iron Bull with a growl of frustration.  She was already pissed about outfits.  She didn't know if it was even a good idea to look at what Iron Bull thought would further upset her.

"REALLY!?  FUCKING SERA JENNY BULLSHIT!?" she shouted a little too loud.  The background instrumentals meandering out of the nightclub's speakers weren't very loud and nor were their audience's murmuring voices.  A few people looked directly to where she was peeking out from backstage and excitedly pointed and waved.  Sera closed the curtain and her eyes.

"They're your fans," Varric said.  His voice had a warning tone.  "You can't disrespect them when we go out there."

Sera turned to him, her posture contorted along with her face.  Everything bent with snarling anger.

"Like HELL I can't!" she roared at him, her hands leaping up as if she planned to smack him from seven feet away.  He threw his hands up in returned challenge before the tiny elven woman stormed out onto the stage to an uproarious applause.  She stood still for a moment.  Chest heaving with quickening breaths.  Roadies stumbled past her, staring wide-eyed in annoyance and surprise as they continued taping down wires and plugging up cords.  Iron Bull, peeking out from behind Sera, even noticed the surly lady with the Redbull pumping a celebratory fist into the air and shouting with a smile.  The hot Vint was looking over at Redbull-lady with surprise and eventually manged to get the hot bald woman to stop cheering long enough to look over at her, too.  He wondered if they all knew each other.  Then, his brain automatically filling in blanks as he always did.  The usually useful but sometimes intrusive habit of a lifelong spy, he figured that due to their ages and their dress, they'd been original Lyrical Lyrium fans.  Probably getting into the band during their college years and sticking by Sera, even now.  The thought kinda warmed his heart.  Bolstered his spirits.  Whatever apprehension he'd had about leaving Zevran to work without his supervision drained out of him, leaving happy peace.  If they could keep any of their original fans after all the Sera Jenny bullshit and rumors about Fenris, they'd be fine.  Even with whatever stupid thing Sera had marched out onto the stage to do at the moment.  Lyrical Lyrium still had fans.  The forever kind of fans.

His eyes flashed back over to Sera's stomping and shouting body.  He was sure nobody could hear her because even he couldn't.  Sound tests had started and the cheering just kept going.  There were, at least, more people in the audience than he'd first expected.  A roadie slinked up to their vocalist with an active microphone and Sera snatched it from his hand the moment she noticed him.  He leaped backwards because she'd began to curse and jump.

"... HERE TO SEE FUCKING SERA GODDAMN JENNY THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!  SERA JENNY IS FAKE!  SHE'S A FUCKING LIE!  IF YOU LIKE HER FUCKING BEAUTY TIPS AND PINK FUCKING CLOSET AND ALL HER FUCKING SHINY BOOTS AND SHIT THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF..."

The mic died.  Cut off by a tech that had worked for the label long enough to know that killing it was the best option.  The crowd quieted.  Murmurs of confusion remained.  Low whispers.

There was mild shouting from the back.  Punks that frequented the bar, probably.  Not at all present to see Lyrical Lyrium.  Allowed in by an apathetic bouncer.  Agreeing that Sera Jenny was absolute shit.

And laughter.  A single, twinkling bell of loudly giggled mirth.

From the hot bald lady.  Orlesian superiority and true delight all wrapped up in one delightful sound.

Iron Bull couldn't decide if he was pissed at the lady for laughing or not.

* * *

 

"Can we all just agree that we're shit without Fenris?" Sera asked as she attempted to melt into the couch backstage.  She was covered in sweat, her glistening abs expanding and contracting wildly as she heaved to catch her breath.  The show, despite the rough beginning, had gone on.  A few new songs.  A few shouted classics.  All of them somehow dead without Fenris's soulful strumming and sultry baritone to mellow out Sera's shrill grief.  Her playing guitar while Varric and Iron Bull muddled through backup vocals just didn't cut it.

"I think we can agree that the crowd might have been more enthusiastic if you hadn't told them all they were shit at the beginning," Iron Bull scolded.  He wanted to see the world gain new leaders, but was generally a people person.  He'd almost walked out after Sera's little outburst.  He didn't want to be associated with her insults.  Sera Jenny fans, or not, they'd all put on their best little smiles and came down to tolerate a punk show.  He almost admired them.

Varric was snoring in the corner, obviously not the same guy he'd been in years past.  He'd murmured something about Cole usually being the one to lock up the house and turn off all the lights before snuggling up to a roadie's discarded jacket.

"Well, it's not 3am, yet.  I'm gonna get a drink," Sera grumbled.

"The old Sera Red could afford to end her night with a drink" Iron Bull used air-quotes on the last two words to show Sera that she wasn't fooling him, "but for the label's sake, we only need one scandal per show... and you've already dumped one on our heads by slandering Sera Jenny."

"I can't be Sera Jenny, anymore, yeah?  Too old.  Too fat.  Too out of style.  What's the point of pretending she was great in the first place?"

"Royalties," Varric wheezed out between a snort and a snore.

"Fuck, em," Sera spat at the idea of giving a shit about royalties, "I'm not hurting anybody but myself, anyway.  So, get of my case."

"Sounds like something Fenris would say," said Varric.

His two band mates looked over to him.  He was sitting up, then.  His eyes wide awake and focused on their young leader.


	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps more because she'd been asked not to do it than her own desire for a drink, Sera peeled herself off the couch, shot individual glares at Iron Bull and Varric, and tramped back out onto the stage.  Much to her relief, there wasn't a single Sera Jenny sign or t-shirt among the sparse crowd that remained.  No pastels.  No pinks.  They were, no doubt, piled up outside the backstage door or scouring the local hotels to find out where she was staying.  She chuckled to herself as she hopped off the stage, barely landing on her feet.  Thankfully, nobody was watching.  At least nobody that she could see.

Going to get a drink after a Lyrical Lyrium show had once meant finding a random person to drag back to the bus.  Iron Bull always took his dates to the nicest hotel he could afford.  Varric usually spent the evening partying with the crew.  Sera figured any fan that got her attention didn't care about the venue and she'd been right.  She always woke, the next day, to some misc. crew member chasing the girl off.  She usually shouted promises to call the retreating lady.  Sera never did.

She hadn't been able to have a night like that in years.  Sera Jenny was supposed to be a virginal straight girl.  The unknowingly sultry girl-next-door.  The kind that might kiss a girl, but only if a man was watching and could get off on it.  Though rumors of her past sex-life always tried to make themselves known, Thedas chose to ignore the rumors or laugh them off as a young girls' usual bi-curious fumblings.  Sera had never been with a man and never fucking wanted to.

Most of the punks littering the stools around the bar paid her no mind.  Though they might have thought her legendary at one time, the start of her career as Jenny had put an end to that.  She tried not to let her heart sink as eyes passed over her with disinterested recognition.  Even the bartender seemed to want nothing to say to her outside of the transactions.  Three transactions in rapid succession.  Shot. Then another shot. Then a drink to carry around.  She kicked herself for trying to make conversation about his lavender hair.

She hadn't really kept up with the scene.  Were there any newer bands she should have known to bring up?  Old ones, even?

Of everyone in the bar, there was only one person actively staring at her.  Not creepy.  Just looking.  A taller woman.  Human.  Dark-haired and strong-featured.  Her jawline looked like it could cut through glass.  Sharp and dangerous.  An edge that begged for tiny kisses and playful bites.  Sera leaned between two of the people that seemed content to ignore her, and stared back.  She ever so slightly pushed her elbows into their person space.  Enough to annoy.  Not enough to start a fight.  It was her usual way of getting payback.

Poke, Rile, & Run.  Incidentally the title of one of their more popular songs.

She smiled as the woman bashfully looked away.  The color on her pale cheeks rising under Sera's scrutiny.  Or perhaps under her own intoxication.  The woman had several clear plastic cups stacked into one another.  She took a little sip of whatever was inside the most recent one.  She even grinned into the cup.  Obviously bashful whether she was drunk or not.

The gesture seemed out of place, Sera thought.  After all, the woman seemed older and quite powerful.  Like a cop or something.  Sera's smile broadened as the woman looked back at her.  She wanted the smile to look inviting.  She wanted the woman to come over and introduce herself.  Yet, Sera knew the smile looked mischievous.  Predatory.  It had been too long.

Tamping down any thoughts of how wrong it was to use one's celebrity to get people into bed, Sera pushed away from the bar and approached Cassandra.

* * *

 

 "Dear boy!  Do calm down," Vivienne scolded as Dorian tugged on her arm, seemingly with the intent to rip it off.  Her attention was pointedly focused on a handsome dwarven suitor that accessorized his obviously vintage wardrobe with modern accents from celebrity fashion labels and rolex.  She wasn't sure if she was attracted to him or not, but she was defintely pleased when he hopped down from the dimly lit corner table to approach her.  They could talk fashion, after all.  Actual fashion.  The art and politics of the industry.  Orlesian politicians, despite their carefully planned ensembles, never wanted to seem frivolous.  She often had to keep her lips sealed on one of her favorite topics.  Being back in Ferelden gave her some measure of freedom, however.

Dorian, Ignoring the fact that a woman several years his junior chose to scold him like a child, finally just gripped her face and forcibly turned her head toward Cassandra.  If she'd been wearing makeup, he probably would have gotten hexed, but Vivienne's skin was as smooth and perfect as costly silk.  She'd only applied a bit of mascara and a plum lip-stain before leaving their hotel room.

Complaints quickly forming & even more quickly fizzling on her lips, Vivienne's eyes widened.  Sera Red, petite, wide-hipped, and practically naked in her bra and jeans, leaned against Cassandra with obvious effort to stay standing.  Sera's perky breasts pressed fully into the taller woman's belly.  She tilted her little blonde head back and danced flirty fingers against the detective's hips.  Under the spotlights near the stage, Vivienne could see Cassandra flush as red as Sera's lacy bra.  As the two of them swayed and suddenly grasped at one another for balance, Vivienne realized the flush might have been less related to Sera's flirting and more related to Cassandra's drinking.  Long gone was the sad little Red Bull can.  Cassandra held a sloshing cup of Dwarven beer.  Likely her fourth, judging by the droop of her eyelids.

Vivienne could see the flash of Sera's smiling, white teeth.  Could see tiny pale fingers curve around back of Cassandra's black jeans and bury themselves in her back pocket.

"Dear Maker!," Dorian gasped dramatically.  

Not to be outdone by Dorian's histrionics, Vivienne moaned with feigned envy, her long nails digging into Dorian's hands.  Which happened to still be wrapped around her face.  With a hiss, the Tevinter snatched his hands away from her and glared at her.  She smiled with a tiny wink.

The dwarf had reached them, by that point, but seemed even more interested in Sera's display than Dorian and Vivienne.  Vivienne wanted his attention and demanded it slyly with a yawn and stretch that flung her hand elegantly through his line of sight.  His eyes followed her hand to where she slid it behind her own head and pushed out her breasts in a continuation of the fake yawn.  She gave him a little wink when she caught him staring and he was bashful enough to look away.  She decided that not only was he stylish and handsome, but adorable, too.

She was sure if she turned around, she'd see Dorian rolling his eyes.  He knew her tricks well.  Though he still fell for some. 

"Dorian, I believe you'll have the room to yourself for the night," she announced to her friend, loud enough for the other man at her side to hear.  "I'm sure our new friend has suitable accommodations for us to... comfortably... adjourn." 

Her gaze was focused down at the dwarf and she saw that his eyes were bright blue as he looked up at her, a shining compliment to his golden hair.  He murmured something about staying in one of the best resorts in the area but being perfectly okay with getting a room at any place she chose.  Smiling, Vivienne allowed him to take her hand.

"Viv, you can't be serious!" Dorian began.  Then, looking at the blonde man, "Um... no offense to you, sir.  I mean what about Bas... your... boyfriend?"

Vivienne rolled her eyes at her best friend. He'd never been so judgmental when they were younger.  Perhaps he thought she was getting too old to play games with cocks and hearts.

"Please, call me Vivienne, love," she introduced herself to her new companion.  "What is your name?"

"Um... Paul," he said nervously.  She could feel his palm growing clammy.  It was slightly unnerving to feel the wetness against her hand but she liked when they were nervous.

"Paul, dear.  This is my best friend, Dorian.  He speaks of my.... sponsor, back home."

Paul dumbly nodded.  Bright pink tongue darting out to wet drying lips.  He wanted her and the growing tension in his body was obvious to both she and Dorian.

"I see a shiny white tan-line on your ring-finger," Vivienne continued. "So, I'm guessing my sponsor is of as little concern to you as your wife is to me?"

"To hell with you and Cassandra, both!" Dorian threw his hands up as he turned away from the pair.

"Ah, so it was jealousy," Vivienne shrugged to no one at all.  She looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to look back at Paul.  "Darling, do you like being tied up?"

Paul couldn't speak, his fingers vibrating from a full-body shiver that rattled his spine as he stammered out what was probably a garbled "yes, Maker, yes."  His head nodding rapidly.

* * *

 Dorian found out just how hardcore Sera Jenny fans were, that night.  Sera's drunken flirtation with Cassandra began roughly an hour after the show's end.  His decision to avoid hearing more of Vivienne's flirtatious laughter ring through the gloomy nightclub came at least an hour after that.  So, by his calculations, the swarming crowd full of bright dresses and glittering poster boards had been waiting for at least two hours.  Already rubbing at his bare shoulders to fight the wet chill of the outside air, Dorian strained to remember if he'd ever found a crowd waiting outside for Sera Red.  

In their earlier years, the shows had been so intimate.  The band would wade into the crowd during performances, carrying long-corded mics.  Greeting people and taking swigs from offered bottles of varied poisons.  After signing, they band always disappeared quickly. Dorian had never cared how rockstars escaped stadiums.  He realized that, despite having ample opportunities in the first years of the Lyrical Lyrium's fame, he'd never tried to meet them.  If anything, he and his friends would shrink away from the excited crowds. For comfort. For safety, even. He still couldn't imagine a bunch of drunken punks crowding a cold alley just to see some girl.  Not even Sera.

Images of Sera conjured the night's earlier jealousy.  He wanted to be happy that Cassandra was getting the attention he knew she rarely got, but greatly deserved.  That she was being flirted with because -Maker- was she terrible at flirting.  He was glad for her.  Or, at least, he wanted to be.  In reality, he was just seething at both Cassandra and Vivienne ending the night with bedmates while he ignored how tired he was to keep himself from needing to return to the empty, lonely hotel.

Just as his thoughts veered dangerously near self-loathing, a movement from the door on his right caught his eye.  Then, the fully distracting and hulking form of Iron Bull exited the nightclub.  He turned with surprising finesse and shut the door with a soft click.  As if a sleeping baby rested inside.  Dorian thought it was an interesting gesture, all things considered.  He couldn't stop staring.  Not even if someone had offered him his wildest dreams could he stop staring.  In fact, he was convinced, in that moment, that Iron Bull was the very personification of his wildest dreams.

He couldn't judge Sera Jenny fans, one bit.  Not if they felt has as much love for Sera as he had for Iron Bull.  Iron Bull gave a meek wave to the suddenly disappointed crowd outside and his delicious voice, something Dorian had never heard in person, he realized, boomed out an apology.  Sera Red had left the building about a half-hour ago.  Some people, believing him, left immediately.  A few stubbornly camped out because he was obviously sent outside to deceive them.  Iron Bull shrugged at the crowd and bent his back to the breeze ghosting through the alley to shield his lighter as he lit a cigarette.

 This turned him toward Dorian.  His eyes too focused on his task to notice the comparatively tiny Tevinter moving closer.  Dorian couldn't help himself.  He was drawn to Iron Bull and cursing himself for judging the Sera Jenny fans.  Even the fans that remained.  He couldn't judge them one bit.  Not with the way his heart thumped painfully against his rib cage when he caught sight of Iron Bull.  Now standing in the nightclub exit with a cigarette balanced between two fingers, Dorian would have sworn Iron Bull was a statue.  Perfect and lovingly crafted.  The Qunari smelled of cinnamon, tabacco, and cloves.  Dorian wanted to touch him.  Clenched his hands at his sides to avoid giving in to the urge. He'd always known Iron Bull was attractive.  His type, even.  He just hadn't quite processed, in photos and on stage, just how large the man was.  How his muscles strained against his tailored shirts.  How thick and unblemished his fingers were.  How kind his face could be when he wasn't screaming and scowling his way through a performance.  

Dorian suddenly regretted every single Lyrical Lyrium show he'd exited during the encore to beat traffic or a curfew. To meet a date.  To fucking clock-in at work or study!

How had he deprived himself of standing near Iron Bull and feeling small and breakable?

"Oh, hey. It's you!" the Qunari said as he caught sight of Dorian.  He didn't straighten up his spine.  He blew a dark cloud from the corner of his lips and, with a shrug,  tossed the cigarette down and stomped it out.  Dorian got them impression that the drummer didn't want to bother him with the smoke.  His heart warmed.  

Dorian didn't understand why the drummer spoke to him as if they'd met.  Dear Maker, he'd remember!  Yet, he didn't trust himself to speak.  He wasn't sure if it was the knowledge that his two best friends in the world were getting laid while he was going to spend the night alone, but Dorian just knew if he parted his lips before calming his heart, he'd blurt out, "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me, PLEASE!"

Iron Bull chuckled to himself.

"Ah, sorry.  I recognize you from the show.  Could see you from the stage.  Great outfit.  Knew all the lyrics.  Still managed to look damned gorgeous while shouting about puking pundits.  You're hard to miss and impossible to forget," Iron Bull clarified.  His voice had dropped in pitch on the last four words.  They were purred.  The corner of his lips quirked up.  A flirty smile.

Dorian's mind reeled.  Were these pick-up lines?  Was he getting picked up?  God, he wanted Iron Bull to pick him up.  Pick him up and do literally anything with him.  Hell, Iron Bull could pick him and toss him over a fence into a dumpster and it would still be the sexiest thing that had happened to Dorian in years!

"I suppose I should shut up before your... er... ladyfriend joins you?" Iron Bull asked.  Gods was he bold.  He obviously thought Dorian was on a date and yet he still stood like that.  Still spoke like that.  Smiled like that.

"No.  No," Dorian managed to speak after taking a deep breath.  He was looking up at Iron Bull, his head tilted back and chest pushed forward. "Do talk.  Never stop."

He'd begged, just then.  A pleading look in his eyes.  His brain's chorus of "Fuck me. Fuck me." drumming up to a raucous "Wreck me! Wreck me!"

He wasn't cold, anymore.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Lyrical Lyrium's old tourbus was long gone.  Reappointed and rebranded to accommodate some all-girl, pop-country group from Denerim.  Instead of the luxurious entertainer coach Sera had grown accustomed to before going solo, the label had simply rented a generic sleeper bus for them.  No plush leather couches and fully stocked bar.  Just rows of hard-padded benches lining the front-most walls, two bunk-beds flanked the midsection, and a tiny bedroom at the back.  With a full-sized bed and tiny walkway for travelers to reach the bathroom, the bedroom was not great for privacy.

Sera would take care of their rental, herself, next time.  She was tired of logistics being handled by people that had never been in a band, performed a show, or slept on a bus.  They had degrees, some of them multiple, but no experience.  And no respect.  They thought Sera's job was easy, while Sera could think of nothing more comfortable than clocking in to a regular gig and telling other people what to do for a living.

She supposed that since they weren't entirely right, she could be at least a little wrong.  Though, she wasn't wrong about buses.

In fact, she was only angry with them, at the moment, because sneaking Cassandra onto the low-profile Black bus parked discreetly around the corner meant marching her past snoring crew members.  They'd passed out on the benches, hours ago.  It also meant keeping the only comfortable bed away from Iron Bull, who probably needed it the most.  It was embarrassing compared to the old digs.  The shiny baubles and carefully designed lights that made most of her after show "dates" at least murmur out an "Oooooooh" or two while stumbling down the narrow hall.

 Cassandra made no comments about the people around them.  Nor did she really seem to look around, at all.  Cassandra was thoroughly entranced.  Sera liked them a little bit star-struck.

 

* * *

 

Iron Bull was still giving an aroused Dorian bedroom eyes when his gaze flicked away from Dorian's flushed face to politely greet someone over the Vint's shoulder.  Some unbidden hope that Fenris had arrived to join in this night of dreams-come-true fluttered over Dorian's thoughts before he heard Vivienne purr out her own greeting.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Vivienne!" Dorian turned on his heel spouting more vitriol than he meant to.  Vivienne seemed pouty but unscathed. "What happened with Paul?"

"The rich and fashionable ones always pay enough attention to Orlesian politics to recognize me.  He started with little quips about constituents and votes.  Then, there was a passing comment about Sebastian," she responded with a sigh.  "I reminded him that if he knew anything about Orlesian culture, he'd know that we couldn't leave together because he recognized me.   Maker, I miss the masks."

Dorian's aggravation deflated, at that.  At least she was nice enough, in front of Iron Bull, to not blame him for almost saying "Bastian" inside the nightclub.  He hadn't been sure he'd caught himself in time and Vivienne didn't have a forgettable face no matter how she dressed.  The pieces were all there and he'd dearly hoped Paul wouldn't attempt to put them together.

"I'm sure he meant no harm," Dorian offered comfort.  As always. He slid an arm across Vivienne's shoulders and she leaned into him, glumly. Iron Bull smiled at the two of them. Then, as if feeling the Qunari's mirth touch his back, Dorian turned to face Iron Bull, again.  "It has truly been a pleasure talking to you, tonight."

"Me too, Dorian," Iron Bull said.  His smile grew at the realization that Dorian was genuinely interested in him.  As a person.  Not just a performer.  Not just a celebrity.  "How about we make a habit of it?"

Dorian was sure he'd never looked so grateful in his life.  Men didn't understand his relationship with Vivienne.  Rarely tried to.  She was a comfortably sexual being.  A succubus to all eyes but his own.  Most men were jealous the moment she spoke to Dorian in front of them.  Then, there was the fact that she was so pushy.  So needy.  More like a baby sister than a best friend.  The men that showed interest in Dorian usually turned away the moment she pulled at Dorian's shirttail or they valiantly tried to get her into a threesome.  Threesomes with women were something Dorian dearly wished he had the capacity to enjoy but, sadly, did not.  Then again, if he were bi or straight, he'd probably just marry Vivienne.  And she'd allow it, too.  The only man on the planet she'd live a domestic life for.  

Iron Bull pecked Dorian's number into his Samsung phone as Vivienne openly judged him for not having an iPhone.  She managed to also cram in a few compliments on his Gaultier outfit and he gave a reverent speech on how phenomenal she looked in McQueen.  They both agreed that Dorian was tacky in his head-to-toe indie brands, but in a sexy way.  The three said their goodbyes in full cheer.

Iron Bull would meet Dorian for breakfast.

Iron Bull of Lyrical Lyrium had met Dorian and liked Dorian.  TALKED to Dorian!  Not just stared.  Not just flirted.  There had been Idle chit-chat about how Sera Jenny fans could do amazing things with glitter and how the nearby trashcans smelled not of filth but of straight vodka.  There'd been Random quips about politics and music.  Just normal things.  Like adults that weren't led by their dicks.  Though neither of them could say they weren't aching for a fuck.   He'd also accepted Vivienne.  No raised eyebrows.  No sneers.  No rolled eyes.  Just a completely open and calm understanding that he came second to Dorian's best friend.  That, no matter what happened with their dicks, eventually, he wasn't in competition with the woman at Dorian's side.  He'd even invited Vivienne to breakfast, but she'd politely declined. Dorian was over the moon!

In the Uber to their hotel, Vivienne had gone on at great length about how she'd not be able to sleep because she was so excited for her best friend.  The alcohol in her system said otherwise.  She all but passed out in the elevator and Dorian carried her to her bed.  

"We're too old for nights like these," he whispered lovingly to her snoring face before tucking her in with a kiss to the cheek.

* * *

 

Cassandra woke to the sound of soft snoring and a repeatedly whispered "Miss.  Miss.  Miss."

The air smelled distinctly of pussy.  The sunlight hurt her eyes.  Her clit was throbbing with an ache so strong she assumed it was bruised... though she had to admit the sensation was not at all unpleasant.  In fact, if not for the queezy dizziness in her head and the person whispering to her from beside the bed, she would have grabbed the swollen bud between her index finger and thumb, rubbing it until she came.  Adding more fragrance to the air around them.

Them.

There was herself.  Which she was sure was good.  She was supposed to exist, it seemed.  Then, there was the person whispering.  A deep voice.  Gravelly.  Warm.  The kind of voice that made her lips blush pink and cunt drip.  Before her brain could catch up with her, she'd shoved a hand between her thighs.  Her knees were already bent.  The blanket was already out of the way.  Unimpeded, Cassandra slid a trimmed finger inside herself and moaned at her own touch.  A pleasant act in a pleasant dream.

Fabric landed over her thighs and hand.  Light, delicate, and cool.  How nice.

The voice was louder, now.

"Miss!  That's your shirt... uh... here's um... Ah, I think these are Sera's.  Okay, here!"

More fabric.  This time heavier.  Probably her jeans.  She heard the familiar clinking of her boots in motion.  That wasn't right.  Her boots weren't on her feet.  She pulled her finger away from where she'd dipped it and absently popped it into her mouth.  Her eyes still shut against the light and against waking.  Ah, but she was waking.  And fast.

The voice grew husky.  Desperate.

"Miss, please wake up.  Get up!  Get dressed!"

She could still hear snoring.  Not her own snoring, of course.

This wasn't right at all.  She lived alone.  She didn't even have a pet, least of all a talking one!  Her bedroom was never this fucking bright in the morning, either.

Oh, that's right, she was out of town.  The hotel?  She didn't remember returning.  Gods, her pussy ached for touch.  She was getting so wet she knew she'd squirt, again, for the first time in ages.  If she could just...  Her hand slid back down.  Underneath the draping fabric of her shirt and pants.

The man's voice came out not in words but a groan.  A long, pained groan.  The kind of groaning a man did when his cock was sliding into her.

Somehow, that was finally what she needed to wake.  The thought that there was a real man nearby and a real sleeping body and the ache in her cunt was from far too much sex happening in far too short a time.

Blinding light and a sharp jab to her skull and she realized that not only did she have the worst hangover she'd had since college, but the snoring body was Sera Red's and the sexy voice was Varric Tethras.

Cassandra sat up quickly, yelping with shock at both realizations before slamming a hand over her own mouth.  Her stomach had roiled at the sudden movement and she knew she'd vomit.  A plastic-lined wastebasket leaped into view and she couldn't even thank Varric for putting it on the bed before she was heaving into it.

The dwarf patiently waiting for her to stop, pointed out the bathroom when she was done, and asked her to get dressed before he came back.  Normally, she'd insist on cleaning up her own mess, but he left the room with the trashcan before she could even make herself process his instructions.  She gave another sideways glance at the sleeping rockstar next to her and then stumbled her way into the bathroom to wash her face and mouth.

She'd only just pulled on her clothes when Varric was returning with a small toiletry kit.  He smiled at her with all the warmth and respect of a man that hadn't just seen her throw up into a trashcan and she was grateful for his tactfulness.  Each step closer she got to defogging her thoughts, the more and more anxious she became.  Least of all because she couldn't remember the previous night.  The concert, yes.  Or, at least half of it.  Past that, everything was simply gone.  No blurry flashes of walking to the bus she was on.  No hazy memories of Sera riding her face.  Literally nothing remained.  She'd drank too much.  Far far too much and then topped off the alcohol with energy drinks that kept her from properly realizing just how drunk she'd become.

She closed herself back into the tour bus bathroom to properly brush her teeth and use the tiny bottles of face wash and moisturizer Varric had provided.  She heard him moving around quite a bit while she freshened up.  The light in the bathroom was too dim for her to get a decent look at her own face, so she focused her senses on the sounds.  Shifting sheets.  Plastic packaging ripping.  Heavy, thumping footsteps that were nothing like Varric's.  Voices.  An aerosol spray can.  Creaking machinery. Rattling blinds.

Cassandra emerged with drooping shoulders and frowning face into a room at looked nothing like the one she'd left.  Light still came through the windows, but it was diluted by blinds and sheer curtains.  The bed was up against one wall, held back by a large metal arm that probably cranked up and out of the way when the bed was needed.  There were pillows on the floor surrounding a convenience store spread of miscellaneous, pre-cooked breakfast foods.

"Ordering out would have taken forever and I'm sure you'd like to eat and be on your way as soon as possible," Varric, already seated on one of the more plush cushions, apologized as he gestured to one of the pillows for Cassandra to sit.

"I... you didn't have to do this," she felt shocked and unable to move.  As much as she wanted to oblige him and show gratitude, her mind couldn't process that he was being so nice.  "Don't girls usually get kicked out after a night with Sera Jenny?"

"If a random crew member finds them, sure," he said, obviously not surprised that his bandmate had a bad reputation with the ladies.  "But you got me, instead.  I wanna see you take an aspirin, keep some food down, and walk without leaning on the walls or furniture."

Cassandra realized that at that very moment she was leaning on the bedside table with it's attached lamp and clock.  She hadn't stood on her own two feet since getting out of bed.

"Thank you," she said.  Still not moving to sit.

Varric stood, then.  Without asking any embarrassing questions, he slid one arm around her waist and the other held her free hand.  He guided her to the middle of the small room and patiently stood beside her as she awkwardly crumpled to the floor.  Still wordless, he kicked the newly washed and relined wastebasket next to her and opened the huge bottle of water he'd already sat out of her.

Taking his seat, again, Varric talked in slow, soothing tones about what had been on the morning news.  As if they ate breakfast together every day and he wasn't uncomfortable with her self-induced illness at all.

Cassandra took one queasy sip of water and listened to him.  He didn't seem inclined to rush her and she figured trying to hurry through the meal would only serve to make her sicker.

 

* * *

 

Time seemed to fly swiftly past Fenris.  His memory wasn't trustworthy't because of all the lyrium and wine.  His days were boring because he never worked and never spent time with friends.  If he had any people left in his life he could call friends.  He just spent most of his time in bed.  Books, television, drugs, and masturbation.  He honestly didn't remember what it was like to feel necessary.  Capable.  Needed.

He was starting to come out of a haze that might have lasted months or merely weeks.  His supply was lighter with each passing hour and it was time for Hawke to return, wasn't it?

Fenris felt so lonely.  Lonely and broke.

The damned human fucker wouldn't answer his calls, though.  He was probably back in The Free Marches fucking his little elven wife and having little round-eared babies.  As long as he had a tight hole to fuck, what did Fenris matter to him?

Fenris left him a sniffling voicemail.  The rhythmic smack of his hand sliding up his wet cock.  Quivering voice begging Hawke to make him cum.  That had always been the viscount's kryptonite.  Enough to get him on an overnight flight across the Waking Sea.  Enough to make him guiltily cry into Fenris's bruised shoulder as he fucked him over the side of the bathtub.  Enough to make him leave another lump sum.  
  
This time, however, Hawke never called and moaned out a husky "on my way."  He didn't snapchat a photo of a boarding pass next to a cup of coffee.  He didn't email a photo of his hard cock half hidden underneath his jacket on a redeye flight.

There was only silence.

Fenris wasn't sober enough to freak out.  Not yet.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, but I wanted to get this update out and immediately start on the next!

Iron Bull couldn't stop looking over Dorian's shoulder during breakfast. Tevinter manners meant Dorian wasn't supposed to point it out, but he couldn't stop himself from growing more and more agitated. His dreams had finally come true. Dreams he hadn't realized he'd had. ...and the result was a free meal and being ignored?

"I can... see you another time, if you're busy," Dorian carefully offered.  He knew that even that broad statement would earn a discreet kick from his mother, where she around.

Iron Bull's eyes left whatever they'd been on and flicked back to Dorian's face with surprise.  Then confusion.  Then realization.  Then guilt.

"Oh, Dorian, I'm sorry,"the Qunari said.  "I um... well, the news is on and I have a hard time looking away from it, sometimes.  My bad.  Seriously."

Dorian squinted at Iron Bull, but then edged around the half-circle booth they were in.  Only slightly distracted by how thick and hard Iron Bull's thigh felt against his own, Dorian focused on the muted screen that had been behind his head a moment ago.  Subtitles matched up with the reporter's stern gaze and moving lips.  Images of Loghain and crying faces flashed behind the reporter's head.  Alistair, Loghain's running mate, was then speaking into a microphone.

"I do not intend to drop out of the race," the subtitles read.  "Loghain's continued absence has placed us all in mourning, but we must continue his fight.  Ferelden Freedom Forever."

Dorian noticed the distaste that was evident on Alistair's face as he mouthed Loghain's obnoxious slogan.  Ferelden had been occupied by Orlesians in Loghain's youth and the old, bitter man ran his entire campaign on fear that the Orlesian's would return.  Not a very popular sentiment when most people were just worried about what they were going to eat from day to day.  Alistair, despite his awkwardness and clear contempt for his role, had saved Loghain's campaign.  The apathy that most Fereldens approached often corrupted elections with had been stamped out by a fresh, young face with modern ideas.  He'd said things that were often questionable, but he spoke with such honesty and lack of restraint that most people thought of him as the kind of guy that would never lie to them.

Alistair had softened Loghain's image in ways nobody else could.  Loghain's connection to one of Ferelden's favorite presidents, Maric Theirin, hadn't been enough.  Parading his daughter around and making ads about his fatherly habits hadn't been enough.  It was Alistair's earnest bumbling that had made Loghain enough of a force to oppose Corypheus.

And now Loghain was missing.

Dorian wondered if Alistair could even sleep at night.

The news switched from the story of Loghain's sudden disappearance to images of Hawke, a viscount from the Free Marches.  The subtitles indicated that the reporter was speaking, again.  She spoke of Loghain's suspected departure from the country.  Of bank accounts in Kirkwall.  Of years of embezzlement.  There was no solid mention of Hawke's involvement, but the pictures and videos of him giving speeches to his people were obviously there to throw suspicion on the foreign politician.

Iron Bull groaned into his hand.  Which was covering his face.

"Are you alright, Iron Bull?"

"Please, promise me I can have breakfast with you another time if I leave, right now," Iron Bull said. His hand not leaving his face.  It dawned on Dorian that he had no idea what Iron Bull did outside of the band.  Was he working in politics, as well?  He knew it wasn't the time to ask.

"Oh, I let my friend interrupt us, last night.  It's only fitting that something of yours interrupt us, this morning.  I'll have breakfast with you literally any time you want.  Go do... whatever it is you need to do," Dorian said.

Iron Bull's hand slid off of his face and he turned to look down at the man by his side.

"We've only just met and I can already tell I don't deserve you."

"The feeling is mutual, Bull," Dorian responded as Iron Bull smiled down at him.  He wanted to kiss him goodbye, but knew it was inappropriate.  "Please, keep in touch."

* * *

 


End file.
